


His Favorite Demon

by BleedingInk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel Finds Out, Demon Summoning, F/M, Fallen!Castiel, Goodbye Stranger, I'm no Angel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 22:47:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1405357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedingInk/pseuds/BleedingInk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his fall, Dean told Cas to get his ass back to bunker, and Castiel has been trying, but can't do it alone. He tries to summon his favorite demon to help him, but Meg isn't answering...</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Favorite Demon

It was raining again, and Castiel’s clothes had begun to soak. The cold was a strange sensation, an unpleasant one that seemed to sink past his skin and straight into his bones, to invade every inch of is now human body, and left him shaking and unstable. The shivers were so intense; sometimes he feared he’d fall apart.

Despite that, Castiel managed to keep his grip around the box as he made his way into the abandoned building he’d been squatting at for the last couple of nights. He knew it was illegal, but the way he saw it, was a victimless crime. And besides, he’d only be there until he had collected enough money to buy a bus ticket into the next town over.

Of course, that purpose had suffered a severe blowback, since he had just spent a big chunk of the dollar rolls he’d so carefully been hoarding. But it was worth it, Castiel considered, as he clutched the box next to his chest. It was if it meant contacting the only friend that could come to his aid in the situation he was in.

He sat on the humid floor, opened the box and slowly, almost reverently, started unpacking all the things he would need for the summoning. He chanted the spell in a low, trembling whisper (he, who had once had a voice like thunder), and had to try twice before lighting up the match and throwing it at the bowl.

He hugged his knees to keep some body warmth and waited for her to come. He expected to appear amongst the shadows, with her usual smirk and a mocking “Hello, Clarence.” He never knew why she called him that. He wondered how would she look like now that he wouldn’t be able to see her soul, as dark as an abysm, as fascinating as one too.

The smoke from the herbs soon disappeared into the air, and their scent dissolve into the wet atmosphere. He counted the drops that leaked through the roof, and realized the seconds had become minutes only when his muscles were sore, so he changed his position and kept on waiting.

After an hour, Castiel had to accept she wasn’t coming.

He was sure he had done everything right (and in any case, he didn’t have enough money left to buy more ingredients, not without starving). But maybe Meg didn’t want to come; maybe she was laying low, hiding from Crowley, or…

Almost unwillingly, his mind started replaying the events of the last time he saw her, outside Lucifer’s crypt. She had stayed behind with Sam to draw some sigils, then Castiel’d had to fight Naomi’s control, and then he had run away with the tablet. Looking back now, he realized he never cared to find out what happened to her. He had assumed she would fine, because she always was. Meg was a survivor, a fighter; she knew how to take of herself, and in the end, that was the only person Meg had been constantly taking care of.

No. That wasn’t quite true, was it?

Castiel remembered very little of his time in the hospital, but he knew despite all their differences, despite what she was and what he was, Meg had been there for him. She had been patient and caring with him, even though that went against everything she was. Meg would come if she knew he was in trouble. He trusted her. She was his friend.

The only reason she wouldn’t come was because she _couldn’t_.

Because something happened outside that crypt, and now she wasn’t going to answer his call ever again.

And just like that, the shadows of the abandoned house became a little darker and the silence surrounding him a little heavier.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’m sorry, Meg. I should have been there. I should have…”

He couldn’t go on.

The raining outside had become a full-blown storm.

 

* * *

 

It was a grey, cold morning as Father Francis opened the doors of the shelter. As usual, there were five or four men already waiting outside. Some of them were hugging their bodies, trying to prevent the heat from escaping through the holes in their coats. Father Francis knew all them, and sometimes was saddened by the thought of where they’d spend the night if the shelter didn’t have enough beds for all of them.

“Come on in,” he invited them with a gesture. “Come, breakfast will be served soon.”

The men started silently and slowly parading inside. It was only after the last of the regulars had disappeared inside that Father Francis noticed a man he hadn’t seen before.

The stranger was standing awkwardly a few steps away, shivering slightly inside his red hoodie. His hair was dumped and his clothes still dripped from the storm of the night before.

“I’m sorry,” he said, straightening his shoulders. Father Francis had the impression he ought to belong to a military of some kind. God knew he had seen enough soldiers that lost their sanity and their homes after they came home. “I don’t mean to bother…”

“You’re not bothering at all,” Father Francis said. “Would you like to come in for some breakfast?”

The man’s bright blue opened in surprise, like he couldn’t believe someone was actually offering him something.

“I… I can’t afford it,” he stuttered. “I’m saving, I need to buy a bus ticket…”

“That’s alright,” said Father Francis, comprehensively. “Breakfast’s on me, and then you can help around at the church, okay? It’s not much money, but it’s as green as it could be.”

The man blinked in stunned confusion, and Father Francis had the impression he hadn’t got the joke.

“I mean, we’ll pay you,” he clarified.

“Oh,” said the man, tugging at his hoodie uncomfortable. “Thank you. That would be very appreciated it.”

“Come on in, then,” Father Francis invited him with a gesture, and the man moved slowly, like he was unsure the priest really meant it. Father Francis would have liked to give him a pat on the shoulder, but smiled kindly instead. Years of experience had taught him not everybody reacted well to what they perceived as an invasion of their personal space. “I didn’t catch your name.”

The man took several seconds to answer, like that was a question that required some serious consideration. Just when Father Francis was about to repeat the questions, the stranger spoke again.

“Clarence,” he said. “My name is Clarence.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on a text post I saw on tumblr, but because I'm stupid I didn't liked it or reblogged it and now I can't find it. The OP said that she/he had the headcanon that Castiel probably found out Meg was dead when he tried to summon her while homeless, and she didn't show up.
> 
> It was sad, and I'm a masochist, so I wrote this. If you know the post I'm talking about, please send it to me so I can add a link and give proper credit where it's due.


End file.
